On Sympathy Lacking Understanding
by Gamma Orionis
Summary: The Dark Lord has no use for Bellatrix's sympathy, though he can at least understand its source. Written for Round Two of The Original Horcrux's Last Ship Standing Competition on the HPFC Forum.


Author's Notes: Written for the second round of The Original Horcrux's Last Ship Standing Competition, with the prompts _elated_, _infinity,_ and _"my heart has scars you will never understand"_.

)O(

There were times when the Dark Lord wondered whether he had let Bellatrix become too close to him.

In the early days, he had been quick to trust her. It was the novelty of having a woman in his ranks, he thought – and a woman so capable, no less. She impressed him with her skill, her beauty, and most of all, her willingness to do whatever he should ask of her. Of course he was quick to invite her to his bed. He was a man, after all, with a man's needs and desires.

And of course, what followed naturally from allowing a woman into his bed was that that woman tended to believe that she was special. Moreover, that she knew things other people did not about him.

This was not untrue, the Dark Lord supposed – Bellatrix _did_ know certain things that other Death Eaters were not privy to. That was natural and inescapable. She knew how to please him, how he shuddered when aroused, how long he lasted with her – an infinite number of such little matters that would make a man blush, but ultimately do no harm. They were things that were uninteresting to anyone but giggling schoolgirls. He would not wish for her to share the information, but it would be of no great importance if she did.

But there were other things. She knew of his birth, which in of itself was hardly a surprise; it was common knowledge among his inner circle that his father had been a Muggle, but no one would ever dare to say aloud that they knew it. No one except Bellatrix. He had made the mistake of confirming it to her, and in their bed at night, she would now whisper how he was so much _more_ than his father, how filthy and worthless his father had been and how he, the Dark Lord, had elevated himself far beyond the limits of his blood status.

At first, it had irritated him. Did she think that he wanted to think at all of his parentage when he was on top of her? What man wanted to think of his father while he was in bed – and why would the Dark Lord particularly wish to be reminded of his Muggle heritage? The very thought sickened him and ruined his will to please her.

But he understand why she did it, the silly girl. She wanted him to open to her, bear his soul to her, as if he ever would. She wanted him to fall sobbing into her arms and beg her to make all the pain go away.

_Women_. Even the most destructive ones wanted to be healers.

He would never do it, of course, never debase himself like that. But there had been times when he had been inclined to tell her just a little bit more. She didn't know about the orphanage. She didn't know what had been done to him there, or how he had learned from so early an age to take revenge with the powers he had that he didn't yet understand. He might have enjoyed telling her, sharing just a few of the most bitter and inescapable memories of a childhood he wished to forget…

He didn't tell her. There were times when the words were already on his tongue when he caught himself, but he always _did_ catch himself. He didn't want her sympathy. He didn't want her petting him like a pathetic little boy who missed his mummy, and most of all, didn't want her to know anything more about him than she already did. Already, she believed she knew him more deeply than the others – believed that she had some sort of particular insight into the deepest corners of his psyche that all the other Death Eaters were too obtuse for. She believed that just because he allowed her into his bed, allowed himself that little bit of weakness, it meant that she was his confidante, and that she knew everything about him.

That foolish confidence she had both disgusted and elated him.

It disgusted him because it gave her the impression that she was worth more to him than she was. He was required to remind her frequently that she was his Death Eater first, his whore second, and nothing more than that. A whore may be allowed to see her master in intimate moments, but that does not mean that she knows him intimately.

And it elated him because it pleased him to be reminded of how completely she failed to understand him.

He had scars that she would never understand, and that he would never want her to understand. There were thousands of secrets that he could share with her, and if he did, all that would change is that he would lose his pride and his advantage over her.

Better to keep her doubting. Better to keep himself a mystery that she could never confront.

And besides that, he preferred to put his past out of his mind for his own sake.

It was easier that way.

)O(

_Fin_


End file.
